What point is there in my showing you ‘mongst the crowds
What sort of person I am,
Or the turn in the road you must take to find
My house, where the quince tree is aging in the yard?
Index fingers are the roots that feed
That trunk which offers no leaves, nor fruit, nor shade.
[Index, from the volume Meqenëse sytë, Tirana: Aleph 2003, p. 87. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]